Remember
by ileftmyscar
Summary: They say your entire life flashes before your eyes when you're dying. I guess it makes sense that I only see you.


**This was written for The Second Season of Our Discontent Anonymous Angst Contest. I didn't win (Heh, like I had a chance) but this entry was two of the judges' favorite. I just forgot to upload it here (damn you, coursework).**

**Thanks to Agustina and Jay for all their help.**

**In case it confused you, I changed my name to this, from Rose Masen Cullen. My twitter handle is also changed now – ileftmyscar.**

**Hope you enjoy reading this.**

**Rose**

* * *

**Remember**

* * *

They say your entire life flashes before your eyes when you're dying.

I guess it makes sense that I only see you.

You were my life. You are my life. You are the breath in my lungs and the blood in my veins. The dimple in my smile and the glimmer of light on my teardrops.

I guess it makes sense that I see life slipping away, just as I saw you.

Bella?

_No answer._

Bella, Bella, Bella?

_Silence._

Bella, I must tell you a story. Bella, are you listening?

_Her hand brushes against my forehead. Cold._

Your hands were always cold, Bella. Always cold. Do you remember that day we met? Ah, that was a good day. I couldn't ever forget that day. You were the new girl in high school and I was the small town bad boy. The biggest cliché there could be, but that's just how we were. You were so shy and so awkward and so clumsy. You tripped on thin air and sent all your papers flying about when you entered the classroom. I helped you up while everyone else in the class snickered. Teenagers are stupid like that.

It was when you took your seat beside me, and looked up and thanked me that I noticed how red in the face you were.

"_Don't be embarrassed_,_"_ I whispered as the class started, _"that guy over there laughing at you? I've been to school with him since the first grade. He used to eat his boogers till we were ten."_

You looked at me like I was a freak of nature. You also looked like you were about to throw up.

"_And that girl with the braid?"_ I continue, _"Her shirt once got caught in her locker and she didn't realize it. Except when she started to walk, all buttons came flying off. Her bra was nice."_

You shook your head but smiled, and goddammit I really liked your smile.

"_My point is –"_

"_Mr. Cullen, I know you don't have any strong attachment to these things called books but a little respect towards the board would be appreciated. Please stop talking."_ I knew there was a reason I hated this class.

So I pretended to take notes while I was actually writing something else. Then I folded the paper and placed it in your lap. You looked so scandalized that it took all my will power to not burst out laughing.

When the teacher turned towards the board, you opened it up and blushed.

I decided to give you more compliments because that blush was the loveliest thing. It was the best fun ever teasing you and watching you turn a brilliant shade of red. I would tell you that you looked nice, and you would blush. I would tell you to do my homework for me and you would blush. I would tell you I would love to take you out and you would blush.

I really liked your blush. I really liked that I could make you blush.

I punched Mike whatshisname because he said _everyone _could make you blush.

I guess I never told you that. That's the real reason he stopped hitting on you. Because _I _literally hit him.

"_Edward, are you crazy?"_

"_Yes. About you."_

"_Oh God. Here we go again."_

"_Bella, I have about twenty girls in class willing to go to homecoming dance with me. But I want to take you."_ I held you by your shoulders._ "You, the twenty–first girl in our class."_

You blushed.

"_Edward, I can't dance."_

"_I can. It's all in the leading."_

"_You're cocky."_

"_Oh, but I really, _really_, am," _I leered. I expected you to slap me.

You blushed more.

I think I knew in that moment that I was already in too deep with you. That you had somehow made my heart your home without even trying.

You didn't go to the dance with me. You told me you hated when people made fun of your clumsiness. I begged you to give me a name. I'd rough that motherfucker up. You kissed my cheek and told me I was sweet.

I had been called a lot of stuff, but never _sweet_. I was the good–for–nothing guy with a motorbike, back when it was scandalous for such a young kid to have a motorbike. I was the spoiled brat whose Dad bribed the school management so they wouldn't fail me. I was the boy who slept with the Principal's daughter just to get back at him for the five detentions he made him sit through.

But to you I was sweet.

And you kissed my cheek.

You _kissed_ me.

"_You kissed me."_

"_Uh…I know."_

"_Can I kiss you back? I'd really like to kiss you back."_

You covered your face with your hands and I saw the giggles shake through you. _"You're _really _crazy."_

"_We already established that."_

"_Bella? What the hell is this boy doing here?" Oh God, Chief Swan was home._ He waved a finger in my general direction and there was a lot of_ "I saw your bike outside, Boy" _and_ "Don't make me check your license, Boy"_ and_ "You still have three unpaid tickets and one DUI incident under your belt, Boy"_ and _"You're not even legally the drinking age, Boy"_ and_ "Stay away from my daughter, Boy."_

And then there was you. Blushing under the hands that still covered your face. _"Dad, stop embarrassing me. He's my friend."_

And I vowed in that moment that no matter what, I had to be a lot more than a friend to you.

Do you remember that now, Bella? I do. Although lately my memory fails me. Last night – or was it this morning? – I had Maggie asking me to take the pills. So I took the pills. Then she later scolded me for leaving them right there on the plastic chair next to mine, and only drinking the water.

I really thought I took the pills.

But I guess I was distracted by the sound of your breathing. It sounded like there was something stuck in your throat. It was probably that stupid tube the nurse shoved down your throat.

I was also distracted by the coldness of your hand as I held it gently between mine.

It was just like that time you held my hand for the first time.

You had finally agreed to go out with me, despite your Dad's warnings. I'd told Chief Swan I was improving my ways – and I was. It had been months since I touched anything alcoholic, or since I stayed out late. My mom actually checked my temperature a while back to see if I was okay. Jesus Christ. When you were getting ready, though, Chief Swan still threatened to shoot my balls off and feed them to the animals in the forests of Forks if I ever hurt you. He even rubbed his gun like he would a pet dog, for emphasis, and smiled like I imagine Satan would. I gulped and discreetly placed a hand on my junk under the table, already feeling the pain.

When you came downstairs wearing your best dress and that leather jacket you told me your mom sent you for Christmas, you shined like a diamond. _My _diamond.

Chief Swan bitchfaced me. I guess I had said it out loud.

Chief Swan pointed at your face and wagged another finger. You blushed some more but said something with your eyes and he rolled his and walked us out of the house. I kept thinking that this conversation would have made perfect sense to me if my surname was Swan.

Then I decided that Edward Swan sounded really, really stupid.

We had to walk all the way to the diner. One, because Chief Swan turned puce when I asked his permission to take you out and he only let me after I promised I wouldn't make you sit on the bike. Two, because my father refused to lend me his car. Three, because there was no way I would step into that deathtrap you called your truck. And four, because the idea of walking with you seemed strangely appealing.

It got a hundred times better when you took my hand like it was no big deal. You twined your fingers with mine and lightly brushed your fingertips over my knuckles, all the while walking at a leisurely pace and looking ahead with a small smile on your face.

I looked at our hands between us, and then I looked at your face. I'm sure I had a thousand profound things that I was feeling in that moment, and I really, really wanted to tell you all of them.

Instead, _"your hand is really fucking cold."_

I kind of wanted to kick myself for saying it.

Your smile didn't waver, and your eyes looked at my face, as if searching for something. Your eyes shined under the streetlights.

And you said, _"It's so yours can warm it."_

If this was a scene in a movie, I would've been laughing out loud. But I stopped walking and so did you and I stood there under the streetlight for ten minutes, rubbing your hand between mine till it was warm.

I was rubbing your hand between mine last night just the same way, Bella, but it wasn't working. I sighed in frustration and bent down to put my warm lips to it. _Bella, Bella, Bella, _I said against your wrinkled skin, my voice as frail as you looked.

I had once overheard my Dad saying to my Mom how sometimes it was comforting to him just to be able to say her name, knowing she was there. She had kissed him and told him he was romantic. I had found it…awkward. And silly.

Till that night when I first took you out and it rained so bad that we could only rush to my house and sneak–in into the garage before my parents saw us. I wanted some privacy with you. I didn't even turn on the lights. I just lit a candle and otherwise blindly made my way to the small shelf in the corner, taking out a couple of hand–towels and bringing them to you. I watched you try to dry your hair while also keeping it tangle–free, and watched your face scrunch up in discomfort when your fingers met a stubborn knot.

Forgetting my own wet clothes, I pulled you to me on the couch so you were in my lap. I used my own fingers to help you out with your hair, but it _was_ kind of a hopeless effort and I was having a, um, hard time keeping myself focused because out of nowhere you placed an open–mouthed kiss on my neck, darting your tongue out.

When I swallowed down the obnoxiously loud groan I was about to let out, you sat up straight again.

"_That bead of water shining in the candle–light was taunting me_,_" _you said very seriously.

And so I kissed you. Brushing my thumb against your cheekbone, where I couldn't see but feel your blush, I pulled your face to mine and tilted my head till I was as close to you as I could be. Your lips tasted like that cheap vanilla ice–cream we had for dessert and your tongue even more so. Your breaths on my face were frantic and your eye–lashes tickled my cheek. Your hands were in my hair and mine were under your jacket, touching the only expanse of skin your dress offered, between your shoulder blades.

You moaned against my lips and I lost all thought. It was the sexiest sound I had ever heard. I wanted you to make that sound again and again and again till you forgot your own name.

"_Bella, Bella, Bella,"_ I said against your lips, between kisses that were stealing my heart like it was always meant to be yours. _"I love your name. You _are _beautiful."_

Your smile was so beautiful that for a second there I wondered if I liked your smile more or your kisses more. But then you brought your smiling lips to mine and there was no need to choose.

Last night when I watched you sleep, I wanted nothing more than to see that smile. Just once. Just one last time. So I kept saying your name. "Bella, Bella, Bella, wake up. Wake up and smile."

But you didn't. So I got up from my chair – it was hard work, my back ached, even though I took the pills because I really think I took the pills – and leaned closer to you. I brought my pointer finger and pushed it against the corner of your lips, willing them to curve into your smile.

It was stupid, and Maggie the nurse told me so. Her tone was light. "What are you _doing_, Mr. Cullen? That's not how it works," she said with a shake of her head. But her eyes had tears, and that kind of made me want to cry too.

I only wanted one smile.

You know what your smiles mean to me, Bella. You know. I could never stand to look at your sad face. And against the white of the hospital sheets and the gray in your hair, with that tube in your mouth and that rasping sound of your breathing, I don't know why but you looked sad. The kind of sad you otherwise tried to hide but never could. Not from me.

Like that time I got an acceptance letter from the University of Washington, and you didn't. I was over the moon, because I frankly didn't expect it. I guess my improved grades did have an impact because I made my Dad swear that he wouldn't use money to get me in. The fact that this was on my own merit meant so much more. And you were so happy for me. You kissed me over and over and let me twirl you around and you even made Chief Swan hug me (although he did point a finger at me and then at his gun hanging on the wall as a reminder, when you weren't looking).

But later that night when I called you, you sounded…off. There were a lot of one worded answers and you kept it short, stating that you were tired and sleepy. But I couldn't sleep. So I sneaked out of my house late in the night after a very long time, and risking my life over a prayer that Chief Swan wasn't a light sleeper, parked my bike two houses away, climbed up the tree in your backyard and sneaked into your room through the window.

Thankfully, you were still awake. You almost let out a scream before realizing that it was just me, and then hugged me so tight that my ribs hurt. When you let go, I saw the tears streaming down your face, which turned into sobs when I asked you what was wrong.

"_You'll leave. And I won't. Who knows where I'll end up? We'll be separated and you don't even seem concerned about that," _you said against my chest, soaking my sweatshirt with your tears and breaking my heart with your pain.

I told you that you had nothing to worry about. That even though Dad didn't bribe someone to get me in, it's not like he couldn't bribe someone for you if I really begged him for it. That's why I wasn't upset. Because I knew, one way or the other, we _would_ be together, no matter what.

But you were sad nonetheless. You kept crying and shaking your head and saying stuff like I wasn't being practical.

So I kissed you till your tears stopped, held you in your bed and tucked the blanket around us. And told you jokes, just really wanting to see you smile. It didn't quite work. So, out of frustration, I pushed my fingertips against the corner of your lips.

"_Smile,"_ I insisted.

I whispered reassurances in your ear and warmed your hand in mine. I kissed the corner of your lips and held you as close to me as I could.

But you didn't smile that night.

And that kind of killed me.

Just like it's killing me now, when I'm in this bed, trying to have a conversation with you, and you're not replying. The nurse whatshername told me to not be so upset. That it does crazy things to that beep–beep–beep sound when I get too upset.

How can I not be upset? What do these white–coats know? They know nothing. They don't know the desperation of wanting to see the one you love smile one last time.

They don't know anything.

They keep talking about me like I'm not right there. It's very rude. Kids these days, I swear. They say I keep mumbling to myself. What are they, blind? How ungracious to not even acknowledge your presence anymore.

The only good thing about being here is that they can't scold me anymore for not taking my pills. They just inject whatever medicine they want me to have in that tube right there. Or the other one. There are quite a few. You know which one. You saw whatshername inject the medicine and smile at me sadly.

I don't like when people smile at me sadly. Least of all white–coats. It's the worst. I always want them to just make up their damn minds and decide whether they want to be happy or sad.

Chief Swan gave me a sad smile when I asked for his blessings because I was planning to propose to you. Our life at the University had been largely uneventful. Except that one time we had a fight because I chose a different class than the one with you. I did it because the subject genuinely intrigued me. You were convinced I did it because of Jessica.

Please. Like I would ever want 'fake–tanned,' 'big–boobed, small brained' Jessica (your words). But that was just an argument. The fight happened when I canceled a night–out with you to spend it at Jessica's place, finishing a joint project our grade depended on. You didn't talk to me for days. You said it hurt you how I'd been more and more distant lately, and that incident just made you snap.

But we fell into our old patterns easily. Apologies were made, mistakes amended, and lots of make–up sex was involved, against every damn surface of the apartment we shared.

Which ended up with you getting knocked up.

Luckily for us, we were almost done with grad school anyway, and I got a lame job too – two factors that probably helped with prevention of my balls being shot by Chief Swan. He did turn an angry shade of red when we told him about the pregnancy, but he eventually came around. He even called me 'son.'

My memory has withered with time. I can't remember what the last thing I ate was, nor can I remember what day it is.

But I will always, always remember that moment when you walked down the aisle towards me. You were nervous about tripping, gripping Chief Swan's arm tightly and watching your step. But then you looked up and our eyes met, and I swear to God, nothing other than that moment mattered. Nothing. You were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. You floated – well, stumbled, really – down the aisle like an angel, your smile blinding and taking my breath away.

Now I look at you, and I see that girl – scared and excited, happy and anxious, feeling everything. You're smiling at me, not a wrinkle on your face and no tube in your mouth and no withering with age. You're young and you're beautiful, and you're perfect. You're mine. My angel.

I smile contentedly as you whisper 'it's okay' in my ear. And just like that I'm not so scared anymore. There is a lot of noise around me all of a sudden, white–coats everywhere at once. But I'm not as terrified as I was last night – or was it this morning? – when all this noise was around you. When your breathing turned harsher and your skin turned paler and words like _heart–rate's dropping_ floated past the whooshing in my ears. I'm not as desperate as I was when they told me I had to leave the room. There was no way I was leaving the room. There was no way I was going to miss my last moments with you.

I sat there and watched it all unfold. I watched them try to plead with me like it was going to work. I watched the monitors around you going crazy with their beeping noises. I felt your frail hand move just a tiny bit where I was holding it. I watched your eyes open with great effort, and I watched them dart to me and smile, even though your lips didn't.

I watched and watched till the light in your eyes dimmed.

I watched and watched till I realized that you never closed your eyes.

I watched as out of its own accord, my shaking hand reached out and closed them for you.

I watched till I had no sense of what I was seeing, because I couldn't see past my tears.

I watched their mouths move as they said something to me, but I couldn't hear it past my own sobs.

And then I was here, in this bed, with no recollection whatsoever of how I got here. My memory fails me all the time now. All I know is that I was feeling pain. Pain unlike anything I had ever felt before. Pain that no medicine in the world can cure.

The only memory that comes close to that pain is that of rushing you to the hospital back when you were pregnant with our first child. That wait in the long, white, empty hallways while these doctors spoke to me of complications I didn't even understand. Big words that only my Dad understood and put an arm around my shoulders for. Painful words that I was later told by the Doctor, and torturous words that stole the ground from beneath my feet. Awful, awful words that made you curl into a ball and weep for days. That took you in a place where even I couldn't reach you. That made you clutch the baby–blanket my mom knit and stole the happiness from your eyes. That made you take anti–depressant pills for months. That made me lock the door to the nursery we had decorated and hold you tight at night, never admitting the tears I cried after you slept.

But that pain slowly faded. It was replaced by time. By life. By days of reluctant smiles that turned into chuckles, that one day led to the laughter in your voice I had missed so much. By small, material joys of job promotions and bigger house and a new car. By the comfort of a retired parent moving to the city to be close to his baby girl. By having our parents only a ten minute drive away. That pain was healed – though never fully gone – by small cries in our house three years later. By the new nursery I painted – this time for a girl – and surprised you with when you returned from the hospital. By the tears that fell from your eyes when you saw it, but they were tears that cleansed the last of our sorrow. By the baby steps that lit our entire family up more than the Christmas lights. By giggles that melted Chief Swan in a heartbeat and made my mom knit again. By a little girl that became the center of our universe from the moment she opened her eyes in this world and let out the loudest wail, to even now, when she is married and happy and with kids of her own.

Pain fades. That's the whole point of it. It fades and in its wake leaves you a stronger person than you have ever been before.

The pain I felt when I opened my eyes in this bed, though… that pain can't be healed. That pain is permanent. But I am content. Despite knowing you're gone, you're not really gone. With your voice in my head and your hand on my forehead, I'm…peaceful.

No if only these white–coats would shut up and calm down…

I feel a sharp sting on my left arm, and moments later, the room is spinning too wildly for me to keep my eyes open. I think I'll just sleep…

With sleep come more memories. I remember Renesmee's first day of school. I had taken a day off because there was no way I would miss it. I remember laughing till I was doubled over on the steering wheel, because before stepping out, she asked you why you gave her such a long name that she couldn't even spell it. My God, how I was against that name. But you were always stubborn, and I had never really been able to deny you anything. And so our baby was Renesmee.

I remember feeling the irrational panic return once my laughter subsided. Time was moving so fast. Too fast. Renesmee walked out of the car and ran straight for the group of kids gathered in the playground. I watched her talk to a boy and my grip on the steering wheel tightened.

You sensed it, because you kissed my shoulder and said, _"Let's go."_

"_But she –"_

"_She'll be fine, Edward. She's not like other kids. She didn't even cry."_

How could I say this without sounding like Renesmee's age? The fact that _bothered_ me was that she didn't cry. She didn't even hug us. Me. It was like she wouldn't even miss being home. Being with me.

When I told you that, you laughed. Predictably enough. But then you looked at my face and gave me the warmest, sweetest hug, awkward as it was inside the car.

"_I love you," _you said. _"And she loves you, too, ok?"_

I nodded like the sullen five year old I felt like. I was grumpy all day and you understood that and gave me my space. I insisted that we were getting late to pick her up, and despite your protests, you humored me, but couldn't quite stop yourself from rolling your eyes when we were parked outside the school. An hour earlier than the scheduled time.

I sighed and drove us around. We ate ice cream. We bought some for Renesmee too.

And it was only when she came running straight into my arms that I breathed easy. It was only when she told us about her day in a breathless, rushed sentence that made no sense to me, that I felt like maybe this wasn't so bad. That maybe it was worth it if it made her so happy.

When we reached home and she was done eating her ice–cream, she placed her tiny, sticky hands on my face, forcing me to make ducky–face.

"_Dad, dad, dad," _she said, squeezing my cheeks.

"_Mm–fff?"_

"_I made a new best friend."_

"_Wwwwhshernmmm?"_

She giggled. _"You make no sense."_

I shook my head, prompting her to let my face go. _"What's her name?"_ I asked her again with a smile.

"_He's a _BOY, _Daddy. His name is Jacob Black."_

My smile evaporated.

Behind me, your laughter from the kitchen echoed in the house.

"_And Dad? He also thinks my name is too big so we're just gonna call me Nessie."_

It was my turn to laugh now.

Nessie – as she preferred to be called – grew up to be just like you. Her hair, her eyes, her smile – it was all you. Time did move too fast. One thing after another, ups and downs, days blurring into nights into weeks and months and years – the seasons of our lives were mostly happy.

I still stole moments with you. Days like Nessie's birthday parties would mean a lot of headache. She was too popular for her own good. There were way too many kids who would turn up. I would watch you manage it all and be amazed. I would pull you into the storage room and kiss you till you couldn't breathe, because place and occasion be damned, sometimes I just needed you.

My need for you became all–consuming when my parents passed away; within a year I lost them both. By that point they had become such important fixture in our lives that I never even thought of not having them around till they really weren't around. And then there was their absence – everywhere I looked, everything reminded me of them. And Nessie would cry too. She was fifteen by then, and she hugged me in a way that made me feel like _she_ was taking care of _me._

Like I said, she grew up to be just like you.

I didn't think it was possible, but it was actually worse when Charlie died. He lived a long, happy life. He even remarried a widow with no kids of her own, right before his sixty–fifth birthday. I had just retired when Charlie passed away. I wasn't used to being home all day, but I was also glad I was. Because one day I found you sitting in the library in the rocking chair near the window, looking so impossibly sad that it felt like someone just twisted a knife in my heart.

The sunlight streaming in highlighted the gray in your hair, and I saw what stress had done to your forehead, and not for the first time I wondered where the years had gone.

"_Hey,"_ I said as I walked in. You smiled a smile that didn't reach your eyes, but didn't get up.

"_What are you looking at?"_ I asked you, tilting my head towards the window.

"_Nothing, I guess. Just thinking."_

I bent down and sat on the ground next to your chair. My joints cracked. _Ouch. "Thinking about what?"_

You abandoned the chair and sat down with me on the floor. I protested, because I knew it would give you backache, so you simply climbed on to my lap. Old as we were getting, it was really, really nice that I could still hold you like this.

"_You forgot your pills again, didn't you?"_ you accused, jabbing a finger at my chest.

"_Nooooo."_

"_Edward. Your joints aren't supposed to crack so much. I gave the pills to you right in your hand, and –"_

I kissed you to shut you up.

"_Now. What were you thinking about?"_

You sighed and rested your head on my shoulder, and I rubbed soothing circles on your back.

"_I feel very lonely."_

"_Why, sweetheart?"_

You shrugged._ "Nessie's married and lives abroad, our parents died, no cousins or anything…"_ You sighed again, _"It's just us."_

"_I think having each other is all we need."_

"_But…"_ you gulped, _"what if something happens to one of us? What then?"_

I shrugged and kissed your forehead, because just the thought of something happening to you was _worse_ than a thousand knives being twisted in my heart. I held you tighter, too, as if a tight grip would prevent if something were to happen to either of us right then.

I finally let out a breath. _"Then we'll just have to hope that the other one follows right after."_

And here we are now, Bella. They say be careful what you wish for, and maybe they are right. But I don't regret my words. I'm just glad you went first. Because I wouldn't have ever wanted you to feel _this_ pain of loss. It's far too big, Bella. Far, far too big. It's all consuming and soul–crushing and everything hurts, except not physically. It steals your desire to open your eyes again.

I feel hands stroking my forehead again, and physically I feel weightless, while my heart feels like it's weighed down by cannon balls.

"Dad?"

I feel my forehead crumple.

"Dad, can you hear me?"

"Ness?"

"Oh, Dad." I feel her tears against my face. "I'm so sorry I'm so late. We were snowed in and nothing was flying out. I heard about Mom." Her breathing tells me the effort it takes for her to not sob.

"It's all okay, now, kiddo. All okay." I try to lift a hand to rub her back. I don't think I succeed. "You're here now."

She kisses my forehead. "I'm here."

"I love you, Renesmee."

"I love you too, Daddy." This time her sob escapes. "And I prefer Nessie," she laugh–cries.

I feel my lips curving upwards. I feel happy. In all the pain, I'm happy. Our girl's here and she has a happy life. Her tears will be wiped sooner or later and time will go on, Bella. Life will go on. But not for me. Not for us.

I don't feel even a whisper of guilt when I close my eyes and take your hand.

I once said I can't live in a world where you don't exist.

My memory fails me lately, but I remember that, Bella.

––x––


End file.
